


Rebel With a Cause

by orderlychaos



Series: Yes, Phil Coulson does wear jeans [3]
Category: Marvel (Movies)
Genre: Fluff, Insanity, M/M, Phil in jeans, Robots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-16
Updated: 2012-11-16
Packaged: 2017-11-18 19:56:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/564685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orderlychaos/pseuds/orderlychaos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If there was one thing about Phil Coulson had learnt being the right hand and friend of a man like Nick Fury for so many years, it was just how to create the optimum level of disruption and chaos without actually going against SHIELD regulations.  Of course, spending years as Clint Barton’s handler had also given him quite a few tricks Phil was positive Fury didn’t know about.  Because when it came right down to it, there was only so much shit Phil would put up with in a given week.</p>
<p>A story of denim, sentient robots and guerrilla warfare.  Or, in other words, the events of Hell Hath No Fury from Phil’s point of view, because I can’t resist writing about sentient robots.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rebel With a Cause

**Author's Note:**

> Originally, I had intended "Hell Hath No Fury" to be from Phil's POV and involve the beginning of an epic bromance with Tony Stark and his robot army. Since that didn't work, I was going to post a few of the scenes as a little interlude... except, somehow it turned into a fic of its own. Damn plotbunnies.
> 
> So here it is: Phil's POV of his war with Fury :)

If there was one thing about Phil Coulson had learnt being the right hand and friend of a man like Nick Fury for so many years, it was _just_ how to create the optimum level of disruption and chaos without actually going against SHIELD regulations.  Of course, spending years as Clint Barton’s handler had also given him quite a few tricks Phil was positive Fury didn’t know about.  Because when it came right down to it, there was only so much shit Phil would put up with in a given week, no matter how good Fury said he was at dealing with it.  And being kept so busy that he hadn’t been able to even _see_ his archer for over a week in a very literal sense – let alone take him out on a third date – was definitely something Phil was no longer going to put up with.

It was clearly time to take matters into his own hands.

The next morning, Phil turned up at SHIELD bright and early in the morning, just like usual.  He checked his emails, responded to all the junior (and some not so junior) agents that had problems and signed off on seven mission reports as he finished his morning coffee.  In fact, the only part of Phil’s normal morning routine that wasn’t exactly normal was the fact that, instead of the usual pristine suit he wore like armour, he was wearing a pair of nice worn jeans he usually kept around for emergencies and a soft, comfortable and entirely casual sweater.  They were the same pair of jeans that Clint had gotten so crazy over only a few months ago and Phil felt a small pang that Clint wasn’t around to admire them.

When Darcy sauntered into the office an hour later, she actually found him with his sneaker-clad feet propped up on his desk, slumped down comfortably in his chair and reading yet another mission report with the sleeves of his sweater pushed up to his elbows.  It was so different from his normal attire and demeanour that Phil had to hide a smile when Darcy stood silently in the doorway to his office for a good three minutes before she moved or spoke.  “Is there something I’m missing, Boss-man?” she asked cautiously.

Phil looked up from the mission report, circling another spelling mistake with his red pen.  Sometimes he felt more like a teaching assistant than a senior agent.  “I assume you’re referring to my clothing, Miss Lewis?” he asked.

Darcy nodded.  “You do seem to be lacking your usual… everything, Boss-man,” she agreed.  “I’d say this was like the thing with Hawkeye again, except as far as I know, he’s still on a mission somewhere.  He is still on a mission, isn’t he?”

He was and Phil was still frustrated that Fury wouldn’t tell him where.  “He is,” he confirmed.  “The clothes are for something else this time.”

“What kind of something else?” Darcy asked, her tone unabashedly curious.

Phil grinned sharply.  “Guerrilla warfare,” he said.

Darcy blinked.  “Okay,” she said.  “I’m just going to be out here if you need me, Boss-man.  Or, you know, if you need someone to call the psych department because you’ve finally gone nuts.”

Phil just hid a grin and waited for the chaos to begin.

 

 

Like the last time Phil wore casual clothes around the office, the sight of him walking down the corridors in a pair of jeans and a casual sweater sent a minor panic through the ranks of SHIELD agents.  Some of the newer junior agents watched him with outright horror, their eyes wide and their faces edging towards pale.  Phil made an absent note to watch them, because a SHIELD agent shouldn’t be unnerved quite so easily.  A sense of impending doom had settled over the offices and Phil found that deep down he was actually quite proud of that.  He told Clint as much when he texted him, because undisclosed mission or not, Clint Barton only kept radio silent when he wanted to.  The series of texts at odd times had brightened up the last week he’d been gone, even if they did little to fill the hole the archer had left.  And since Natasha was with Clint, Phil didn’t even have anyone to commiserate with.

_So what r u wearing?_

Phil hid a smirk at the text and for a long moment considered texting Clint back and telling him about Phil’s apocalypse-worthy lack of suit.  But Clint sounded miserable, which was another thing he was going to blame Fury for, and Phil didn’t want to make it worse.  If the last two dates and three dozen texts were any indication, Clint missed him as much as Phil missed Clint.

_I think I’ll leave that one up to your imagination, Clint._

He knew that his reply would probably provoke all sorts of unprofessional suggestions from his archer, but Phil found himself not really caring about maintaining his professional dignity.  Maybe it was the fact he wasn’t wearing a suit.  Or maybe he just really missed Clint _that_ much.  Whatever it was, Phil wasn’t prepared for the wistful tone of Clint’s text in reply.  _I bet its ur grey stripped tie.  I really like that one._

If Phil hadn’t currently been at war, that text would have made him declare it.

A low whistle broke into Phil’s thoughts as he was typing out a reply to Clint.  “I’m just asking, not judging… but _jeans_ to work, Coulson?  Seriously?”  Tony Stark’s voice announced as Phil heard the billionaire walk up to him.

Phil finished the text before he looked up and arched an eyebrow over the black, thick-framed glasses he wore.  He didn’t say anything, because he knew from experience that Stark rarely needed actual input from anyone else to keep talking.  If he waited long enough, Stark would eventually get to the point.  “Are you trying to piss off our dear Director?  If so, I’m insulted that you didn’t ask me for help.  After all, I am the master.”

“The master of pissing off Director Fury?” Phil asked mildly with a quirk of his eyebrow.

Stark leant nonchalantly against the wall near where Phil was waiting for the elevator.  “Yeah, that’s weird,” he said.  “Agent’s voice coming from someone wearing denim.”

When Phil didn’t say anything else, Stark gave him a pointed look, clearly not liking his question being ignored.  Phil found himself reluctant to say anything.  After his almost-death, Phil and Stark had entered a truce of sorts – Stark attempted to listen to Phil as much as he listened to Pepper or Rhodey and Phil stopped threatening to taze him.  “Believe it or not, Stark, I don’t always obey Fury’s orders unquestioningly,” he said, his exhaustion starting to creep up on him.  Phil hesitated, not sure how to tell Stark the rest of it, because say what you would about Stark, but he didn’t let anyone push him around unwillingly.  Not even SHIELD.

Stark shrugged, looking deceptively casual as he stabbed the button to call the elevator.  “Well, why don’t you explain it to me?” he said.  “But not here.  The coffee in SHIELD seriously sucks.  You might want to get one of your little minions on that, Coulson.  I’m just saying.”

Phil allowed himself to be caught up in the whirlwind that was Tony Stark in a moment of insanity and soon found himself steered into a cozy café not far from the SHIELD offices and into a comfortable chair, a large black coffee in front of him.  Although the coffee was topped with a large amount of whipped cream Phil hadn’t ordered because apparently Stark didn’t ‘do drinks that were boring’.

“Does this have something to do with Barton?  And the fact that no one’s seen him in over a week?” Stark asked, taking a sip of his mocha-venti-something.

Phil took a sip of his own coffee, all too aware of astute dark eyes watching him.  “Partially,” he answered.  “Fury sent Agents Barton and Romanov on an undisclosed yet evidently important mission.”

Stark’s eyebrows rose.  “Fury didn’t tell you where he was sending them?” he asked, sounding for a moment like he couldn’t believe it.  “I thought Fury was your BFF and was supposed to tell you everything?”

“No, that’s Pepper,” Phil countered with a hint of amusement, before he sobered.  “SHIELD is still reeling from what happened in New York with Loki and the Chitauri and with all the time Fury is spending dealing with the World Security Council, he’s prone to taking things for granted.  Like my ability to solve whatever crises he dumps in my lap.”

“Isn’t it against the Agent manual to not jump when Fury orders you to?”

Phil sighed and gave Stark a sharp look.  “No matter what you think, Mr. Stark, I’m not merely a mindless drone whose sole purpose in life is to keep Fury happy,” he replied.

“I didn’t…” Stark began, but Phil cut him off with a knowing look; he knew what people like Stark thought of it.  Most of the time he cultivated that because being underestimated was one of his weapons, but right now, Phil was tired of it all.  He wanted Clint back because Clint _understood_.

Stark took a sip of his coffee, feigning indifference, but Phil didn’t miss the way his shoulders tensed or the faintly guilty expression in his eyes.  “This isn’t about the moving into the Tower thing, is it?” Stark asked finally.

Phil blinked.  “Moving into the Tower?”

If anything, Stark looked even guiltier at his words.  “Fury wants you to move into Stark Tower as the on-site liaison now that I’ve convinced most of the Avengers have agreed to come,” Stark said.  “It’s not that bad, Coulson.  I’ve set aside a whole suite of rooms just for you.”

Biting back a growl, Phil resisted the urge to pull out his phone and send a strongly worded email to his boss.  “Fury has neglected to mention that to me yet,” he said.

After a moment, Stark grinned and it was more than a little terrifying to watch.  “Okay, if you didn’t know about the Tower thing, what _did_ Fury do?” he asked with manic delight.  “You’re not usually so rebellious, Agent.  I’d have noticed.”

“Believe it or not, Stark, I have actually disobeyed orders before, some of those directly from Fury,” Phil said dryly, but Stark waved the words away.

Phil let out a sigh, before letting all of his careful professionalism drop away.  “I’m not trying to complain about being busy.  I knew what I was signing up for when I was recruited to SHIELD.  But this last week has been ridiculous.  It’s as if Fury has forgotten that most SHIELD agents are only mere mortals and require things such as food and sleep.”

“And then they take all their grumpy, tired complaints to you, not realising you’re even more tired and grumpy than they are right?” Stark said.  At Phil’s surprised look, he shrugged.  “I’m dating Pepper, remember?”

Phil gave him a small smile.  “Yeah,” he said.  “And I’m not trying to reject your hospitality, Stark.  “It’s just…”  Phil grimaced.  “I like my own _space_.  I like having somewhere where I don’t have to deal with supervillains or alien goo or random explosions.”

Stark chuckled and held up a hand.  He was watching Phil with rapt interest, like Phil was a new piece of technology he’d only just discovered.  “I get it,” he said.  “Oh, don’t look so surprised, Agent.  There is a reason I have ten floors of R&D labs and my own private workshop.”

Slumping back in his chair, Phil regarded Stark warily.  Jeans clearly had a _very bad_ influence on Phil’s professionalism because for the last ten minutes, Phil had been treating Stark more like a friend than an annoying colleague.  But perhaps Fury wasn’t the only person he’d been underestimating lately, because Stark wasn’t mocking him for it.  Instead, he looked as if he understood.  “You wouldn’t even consider moving into the Tower if I told you it comes complete with a half-naked Barton stumbling into the kitchen for breakfast?” Stark said, but there was nothing in his voice aside from unabashed curiosity and the hint of mischief.

“I haven’t even taken him out on a third date yet,” Phil grumbled.

“You mean…” Stark’s eyes widened slightly as the implication sank in, before a large smirk slid over his face.  “You haven’t slept with him yet.  Coulson, that’s surprisingly romantic of you.”

Slumping lower into his chair, Phil resisted the urge to pout.  “No, I haven’t,” he growled, before narrowing his eyes at Stark.  “And there is nothing wrong with a little romance.”

Still looking far too amused at the situation for Phil’s comfort, Stark took another drink of coffee.  “I never said there was.”

“Besides,” Phil continued.  “When I finally do get to take him out on a third date, I’m going to end up with an all-the-way naked Barton in my apartment, so I’m still not seeing the appeal of the Tower.”

Stark blinked, before bursting into a delighted chuckle.  “Oh, I _like_ the new rebellious Phil!” he grinned a moment later.  “Can we keep him?”

Phil sighed, because he’d lost all authority over Stark anyway.  “This is less a new version of me and more what I’m like when I’m not being professional,” he admitted.  “Which isn’t really supposed to happen outside the weekend, but then neither are the jeans.  It’s been a bad month.”

“Never fear, I have a plan,” Stark announced cheerfully.

“I don’t like your plans,” Phil told him.

“Why not?” Stark grinned.  “My plans are awesome!”

“Your plans usually end in widespread property damage,” Phil said dryly.

“As long as it’s SHIELD property and not yours, I don’t see why you’re always so upset about it,” Stark grumbled.

Phil just looked at him.  “I’m the one that has to fill out the paperwork, that’s why,” he said.  “No plans.  I can deal with Fury on my own.”

 

 

“Coulson!” Fury thundered.

Phil looked up from where he’d been patiently typing out an email on his phone as he’d been wandering in the direction of the cafeteria for coffee and food to find Fury stalking down the corridor, scattering SHIELD agents in his wake.  His furious expression would have made lesser men pale in fear, but Phil merely slid his eyes between Fury and the small, but seemingly completely sentient robot trailing after him, beeping in concern.  “Sir?” Phil asked mildly.

“Is this your doing?” Fury demanded with a growl, gesturing towards the robot.

“It’s flattering that you believe me capable of creating such a robot, sir, but have you perhaps tried asking Stark?” Phil said; it wasn’t that Phil was _trying_ to be difficult, it was just that he wasn’t really inclined to be helpful either.

Fury narrowed his eye and Phil wondered what exactly the robot had done to the Director.  Agent Sitwell was still unnerved when Stark’s sentient and cooperative robot army stalked him through the building, but Phil knew that was mostly due to an unfortunate incident involving Doombots.  Phil had expected a little better from the Director of SHIELD.

“Dave!” Tony Stark’s voice rang out.  Phil wasn’t even a tiny bit surprised.

The robot – Dave, apparently – turned towards the sound of the voice as Stark rounded a corner, tablet computer in his hand and gave a series of beeps and whirling clicks.  “You were supposed to deliver the field reports and then return for further instructions,” Stark continued.

Dave clicked and beeped again.  “You what?” Stark asked, frowning.  “Yes, I know… no, you weren’t… I _know_ that’s…”

“Stark!” Fury snapped, interrupting Stark’s conversation with his robot.

Stark looked up and raised both his eyebrows at the Director.  “Yeah?” he said.

“Do you want to explain why your robot has been following me around for half the day?” Fury asked dangerously.

Stark blinked.  “He says he was concerned about you,” he said.

Fury glared at Phil for a second, as if he still considered this to be entirely Phil’s fault.  “And because he was supposed to deliver the latest signed, dated and authorized Avengers field reports,” Stark continued.

That caught Fury’s attention.  He snapped his head around to turn his glare on Stark again, but Stark waved a hand through the air before Fury could speak.  “Bruce and I are conducting an efficiency study and we realized agents are fifteen percent less productive when they have to continually hand deliver reports to authorized personnel.  We’re currently trialling whether or not a robot delivery system will reduce the productivity loss.”

Fury blinked.  “Did you know about this?” he demanded of Phil.

Behind the Director, Stark made a series of flailing hand gestures and wiggled his eyebrows.  Phil really hoped the message he was trying to send wasn’t anything more complicated than _play along_.  “I believe Stark and Dr. Banner are due to have a report on my desk this afternoon,” Phil said and Stark subsided with a grin.

Fury narrowed his eye as if he suspected something.  “Just keep any and all robots away from me,” he snapped, before stalking off again to go and intimidate someone else.

Phil waited until Fury was out of sight and earshot before speaking.  “Dave?” he asked mildly.

Stark raised both eyebrows again as Dave beeped happily.  Phil had never believed robots could beep happily until he’d met Stark’s army.  But then, he’d never believed they could be so terrifyingly sentient either.  “He looks like a Dave.  Doesn’t he look like a Dave to you?” Stark said.

Phil just looked at the robot.  “I’m pleased to meet you, Dave,” he said, because it was never a good idea to offend scarily sentient robots that had scarily sentient friends.

Dave beeped happily again.  Phil transferred his gaze to Dave’s creator.  “Stark,” he sighed.  “What did I say about plans?”

“It’s not really a…” Stark began, but trailed off when he caught sight of Phil’s glare.  “Oh, come on.  You’ll love it.”’

Like Phil had feared, the combination of his confession at the coffee shop and his casual wardrobe meant that Stark no longer paid even the slightest heed to his words.  “Stark…” he said again, narrowing his eyes at the billionaire.  “What are you up to?”

Stark held up his hand, his eyes widening with an innocence that actually appeared genuine this time.  “Exactly what I said, I swear,” he said.  “SHIELD agents – and especially _you_ – work too hard.  Bruce and I were just trying to see if there was any way to make things more efficient.”

“And you were also bored,” Phil added.

With a mischievous smirk, Stark shrugged.  “By the way, Bruce may or may not be monopolizing the break room down the corridor from Fury’s office for the caffeine consumption section of the report,” he said.

Against his better judgment, Phil felt the left corner of his mouth quirk up in a small smile.  “Impressive,” he conceded.

Stark snorted.  “I told you I was the master,” he said.  “And considering we’re attempting to give Fury an aneurysm together, you should probably start calling me Tony.”  Phil was strangely touched by that.

Dave the robot beeped, breaking the moment.  Stark turned and blinked down at him.  “Really?  Okay, we’d better get on that.  Bye Phil!”

Phil was still staring a little bemusedly as Stark and Dave turned the corridor, still deep in a conversation clearly only Tony Stark could understand.

 

 

“Coulson!”

By now it was a familiar bellow.  Phil stepped out of the break room, holding is new cup of coffee and watched Fury stalk towards him.  Over the last few days, Phil noticed a distinct pattern and wondered which one of the Avengers had done something to piss off the Director of SHIELD this time.  Phil wondered if it was a little petty to be amused when some of the junior agents paled and fled after catching sight of the expression on Fury’s face.

“What the hell is this?” Fury demanded when he was a little closer, waving what appeared to be two files through the air.

Since Phil had only delivered two files to Fury in the last day or so, he knew exactly what they were without looking.  “Are you referring to the two requests for a leave of absence I submitted this morning sir?” he asked mildly.  “The ones pertaining to myself and Agent Barton?”

Fury narrowed his eye.  “You can’t take a vacation.  There’s too much to do.”

Phil arched an eyebrow at his boss and old friend.  “Well, sir, if I didn’t have to spend every waking moment at SHIELD and most of my sleeping ones, I might not be so eager for a vacation at all,” he replied.

“You’re a senior agent, Coulson.  It’s your job to handle these things,” Fury growled darkly, a trace of real anger in his expression overtaking the frustration.

Phil felt his own spark of anger enter his eyes.  “I know exactly what my job requires of me, sir,” he said.  “And I do it every day without asking for recognition or praise.  What I do object to, however, is when my boss forgets to acknowledge that the agents working for him are people too and sometimes like to be asleep at three in the morning.”  He paused and watched Fury for a moment, noting that the other man actually looked a little guilty.  “I had three agents cry on me last week because they were so tired and overworked,” he continued.  “You know how I hate that, sir.”

Fury had the grace to look a little sheepish at Phil’s words, but his expression was implacable.  “I don’t care if you’re feeling underappreciated right now.  We have jobs to do.  Permission for leave denied.”  Fury’s expression turned shrewd.  “Are we going to have a problem with this, Phil?”

“Of course not, sir,” Phil replied.  “You are the Director.”

Fury shot him a look like he didn’t believe Phil for a second, but he left without saying anything else.  Phil just let out a slow breath.  He might have to call Tony and plot a few more ways to step up the pressure.  Sometimes Fury needed to be reminded that SHIELD was a lot more efficient when its agents weren’t trying not to cry or falling asleep at their terminals.

And if that reminding also happened to get Phil a chance to see Clint again, he wasn’t about to complain.

 

 

Phil sighed as Tony left his office and wondered if he dared leave his office for food.  Rumour had it that Fury was in an even worse mood than usual due to _Captain America_ of all people running some very noisy training drills right outside his office.  Of course, rumour also had it that Hawkeye had arrived back at headquarters this morning, but since Phil hadn’t seen him, he was a little sceptical about the accuracy of the gossip floating around SHIELD this week.

He blinked a little when he heard Tony start talking to someone and wondered if he was talking to one of his sentient robotic army again.  Tony had offered to assign Dave to be Phil’s personal minion, which had been a nice thought, but didn’t think Sitwell would appreciate it.  And, as he’d jokingly told Tony, that was what Darcy was for anyway.  He was just settling back into reading over one of the latest field reports and drinking the coffee Tony had brought for him, his sneakers casually propped up on his desk when he heard the sound of someone heading towards his office.

“Okay, Phil, what the hell is going…” an achingly familiar voice demanded.  The rough voice soothed the tension in Phil’s shoulders that he hadn’t even been aware he’d been carrying and Phil looked up to drink in the welcome sight of Clint Barton in his doorway.

Huh.  Maybe the gossips had been right after all.

Clint looked worn and tired and unbelievably good.  As usual when he was on base, he wore a battered pair of combat boots and black SHIELD-issue cargo pants and his black t-shirt was tight enough that it didn’t do much to hide the firm muscles of his shoulders or chest.  He still wore the bruises of their mission against a Fury from a few days ago, but thankfully the latest mission he’d just come back from hadn’t added any more injuries to the archer.  Part of Phil just wanted to gather Clint up and take care of him for a few days, but considering Fury had denied his request for a little time off, he wasn’t going to get that opportunity.  He could probably run enough interference for Clint to spend the rest of the day sleeping on his couch or in his on-base quarters though.

“Do you want to try asking me that question using a full sentence, Clint?” he asked when Clint simply blinked at him.  Maybe Clint was more tired and sore than he looked; it certainly wouldn’t be the first time.  “Clint?”

Phil watched sharp eyes drift over his wardrobe choices and he could have sworn Clint let out a soft groan as he glanced up at Phil’s face.  Plastic crackled as the archer’s fingers flexed around the packet of donuts he carried.  “Clint?” Phil asked again.

“Huh?” Clint replied, blinking a little.

“I asked if you wanted to finish your question,” Phil said softly, unable to stop the smile that spread across his face.

Clint frowned slightly in almost adorable confusion.  “What question?”

The archer was definitely exhausted if he was forgetting his own question.  Then Phil revised his opinion when Clint’s eyes drifted back down to Phil’s jeans.  Maybe it wasn’t exhaustion making Clint lose his train of thought after all.  Phil couldn’t help the way his smile grew even more as he stood up from his desk and walked over to where Clint still stood in the doorway to his office, his stomach fluttering with pleasure that Clint was back.  Clint’s eyes tracked his movements the whole way, his blue eyes darkening to a colour that reminded Phil of the stormy ocean. 

“I don’t even pretend to understand it, but it’s really flattering the way you turn speechless whenever I’m in jeans,” Phil said, ducking his head with a small smile and cursing himself for his sudden shyness.  He just couldn’t help it; no one had ever looked at Phil with that kind of raw hunger in their expression before and Phil wasn’t quite sure what to do with it, although it did send heat curling through him and skittering down his spine.

“Are you kidding me?” Clint growled in reply, his voice low and rough enough to make Phil shiver.

Phil was vaguely aware of Clint tossing the donuts somewhere before those nimble fingers had caught the belt loops on the front of his jeans and tugged him forwards.  Phil let out a soft groan when he felt the warm weight of Clint’s body pressed against his and couldn’t do anything but surrender as Clint attempted to kiss the breath from his lungs.  Unable to resist, Phil slid his hands up Clint’s arms, the muscles firm and warm under his palms, and lost himself in the kiss.  Eventually though, he had to pull back because he needed air and had to blink a few times to shift the haze of lust from his mind.

He felt Clint’s hands fist in his sweater, as if to stop him going somewhere, like Phil would be stupid enough to try.  His own hands were underneath Clint’s t-shirt and Phil couldn’t stop the need to stroke the smooth, warm skin of the archer’s back and feel the way the muscles shifted and moved under his hands.  “Hi,” he said after a moment of silence, smiling softly at Clint.

“Hi,” Clint replied, his rough voice making images of twisted sheets and moonlight on naked skin dancing through Phil’s mind.

Clint shook his head a little, his eyes sharpening and the grip on Phil’s sweater relaxing a little.  “So, not that I’m complaining because I will never, _ever_ complain about you in jeans, but what’s with the denim?” he asked.

Phil wasn’t sure what Clint saw in his expression, but he felt it turn sharp and dangerous.  “Guerrilla warfare,” he told the archer, using the same explanation he’d told Darcy earlier.

Clint looked a little confused for a moment, before Phil watched the understanding dawn in his eyes.  Phil wondered what conclusions the archer came to, because the confusion never quite left his expression.  “Phil,” he said.  “Why are you fighting a guerrilla campaign against the Director of SHIELD?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Phil asked, but he was beginning to realise that it _wasn’t_ obvious.  Not to Clint.  Phil reached up with one of his hands to carefully trace the nasty, purpling bruise on Clint’s jaw and inwardly cursed every single person in Clint’s life that had put such a look of wary hope in his eyes.  “I’ve barely caught sight of you in over a week and glimpsing you across the Helicarrier deck doesn’t count,” Phil continued, intending to make sure Clint knew _exactly_ how much Phil had missed him.

“You mean all of this was for… _me_?” Clint interrupted.

Phil felt a faint blush colour his cheeks and ducked his head at the intense look that stole over Clint’s face, like Clint could see all of Phil’s secrets with just a look.  He wasn’t sure the archer couldn’t.  “Most of the idea was Tony’s,” he found himself confessing.  “And then he somehow recruited the rest of the Avengers to help, because…”  He was cut off by Clint pressing forward and catching his mouth in another kiss.  The kiss was deep and hot and possessive and Phil gave into it, drawing Clint even closer and revelled in the fact that they could finally do this.

The shrill ringing of his phone interrupted the kiss and Phil couldn’t help but swear as he broke away to answer it.  “Coulson,” he said, his eyes still on Clint’s and grateful that he didn’t sound as breathless as he felt.

“All right, you asshole, you win!” Fury growled on the other end of the phone and for a moment Phil just stood there and blinked.  “Both your and Agent Barton’s requests for leave are effective as of this second, but I swear, Coulson, if you leave without fixing the chaos you created, I will fire you!”

Phil couldn’t help the grin as Fury hung up the phone.  The Director would probably make Phil’s life difficult in retaliation for this when he got back, but right now he and Clint didn’t actually have to be at headquarters and that was enough to make anything Fury threw at him worth it.  “So,” he said to Clint, who was staring at him with a faint touch of wonder in his gaze.  “It looks like we’ve both got the next two weeks off.  Although, you should probably spend most of that time resting.”  Phil couldn’t help but trace his fingers over the bruises along Clint’s jaw again.  Clint needed to rest and the last few missions hadn’t been easy on him; Phil was determined not to be selfish and let the archer enjoy his time off, but he couldn’t stop the invitation that burst out.

“Anyway,” he said, glancing away and stumbling through the words before he lost his nerve.  “I was wondering if you would like to get dinner with me this evening?”

For a moment, Clint stared at him and Phil wondered if he’d made an error.  Clint probably wanted to use his first night off to get a get a decent sleep and that probably wouldn’t happen if Phil dragged him out to dinner first.  “Actually, Phil,” Clint growled, his voice low and rough again.  He pressed forward for another brief kiss and Phil blinked up at him, realising Clint wasn’t trying to politely decline anything.  “I’d rather cook you breakfast in your own kitchen tomorrow morning.”

He grabbed Phil’s hand before he could do more than gape in reply and Phil couldn’t help the laugh that burst out as Clint dragged him out of his office.  He suddenly didn’t care if Fury was planning revenge for all the chaos Phil had caused.

It was all worth it.

 

End.


End file.
